


Someone to Save You

by firesign10



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Hooker Jared, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is a ruthless businessman who specializes in destroying companies, and knows that everything--and everyone--can be bought. Jared is the hot, feisty hooker he meets one night on Hollywood Boulevard who piques Jensen's interest. One night's solicitation turns into a 24/7 gig, with Jared accompanying Jensen to various meetings and social functions in addition to providing sex during Jensen's week-long stay. By the end of the week, though, they're both unsure about what their next choices should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LiveJournal comm, spn_cinema for the 2014 round. Movie prompt: Pretty Woman.
> 
> Thanks to the Cinema mods for providing another year of this terrific challenge! Thanks to the lovely katstark for her thoughtful and thorough beta work. Any remaining errors are mine. Thanks to the truly fabulous roxymissrose, my indefatigable alpha/audience reader and cheerleader extraordinaire, who sat through many bits of drafts and helped me keep going! And final thanks to the superb etoile_etiolee, who read the final draft and decided it needed a banner, and then made one!

Jensen drove the borrowed Lotus through the seedier side of L.A. "Borrowed" was stretching it; he'd barely asked his lawyer--a man who made profiteering look like child's play--for permission before taking it. His eyes barely noticed the bright lights of the clubs and bars that illuminated the street, blaring against the darkness of a California night. He felt jaded and empty; the walls he'd spent years building around himself for protection and strength were tall and thick, and while nowadays he felt reasonably safe, he also felt . . . lonely.

It was only late at night when he was alone that he succumbed to these weak, ridiculous feelings--normally, his day was filled with conferences and phone calls, meetings and schmoozing, where he made his trademark cut-throat deals and eviscerated conquered businesses. Jensen Ackles, CEO of Ackles Acquisitions, terror of the manufacturing world. He bought or took over any company he set his sights on, and reduced it to smaller parts to sell off and leaving only smoking rubble. 

And tonight, he was alone, driving down Hollywood Boulevard, trying to feel . . . something. Anything. The speed of the car, the life that surrounded him, even the hookers as they cruised their corners, advertising their bodies, all had a drive and energy he couldn't feel tonight. He felt completely detached.

Jensen was well above soliciting from sleaze like this--he employed the most beautiful call girls and boys when his needs required attention. A phone call from a discreet aide and some lithe, pretty thing would be knocking on his door. Perhaps he might actually employ one as an escort to a business event, but event or not, they'd end up in bed with him, soothing him with soft skin and willing limbs, even offering sweet or dirty words. Until he curtly reminded them he wasn't paying them for their conversation skills. They weren't friends. They weren't lovers. It was a business transaction: his money in exchange for using their bodies to get him off.

He stopped abruptly at a red light, snorting in annoyance, and as he waited for the light to change again, he took a moment to check out the hookers decorating the street in their loud, colorful, skimpy outfits. _Did anyone besides a hooker ever really wear zebra, or purple feathers?_ he wondered idly. _God, so gaudy and pathetic._

As he reached to shift gears for the green light, his attention was distracted by the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen. The legs were encased in thigh-high leather boots with the cuff turned over at the top. Tan skin flashed between the boots and the minuscule denim cut-offs that strained over a pert ass as the legs paraded down the street. Jensen had to move then, as the car behind him honked impatiently. He moved slowly along the side of the street, finding himself unexpectedly curious about the owner of those crazy-long legs and sexy ass.

The hooker reached the end of the block and turned, revealing a young man slowly sashaying back down the sidewalk. A tight red top clung to his broad, muscular shoulders and opened to his waist in a wide vee, displaying a tempting slice of smooth, naked chest. The shorts were just as tiny from the front, the waistband slung low under well-defined abs and the bottom hem barely edging onto the tops of his thighs. A large tote bag hung from one shoulder, and a black jacket dangled over the other. He was talking with the other hookers and calling out to the cars passing by, waving and flashing dimples that Jensen could see from his car. Another streetwalker hollered back to him, and his hot pink bobbed hair shook as he threw back his head in laughter.

Jensen wasn't sure what he was thinking when he pulled over. Something about this guy intrigued him, tickled his jaded palate. He waited for the tall young man's eye to check him out and crooked a finger to beckon him. The hooker lazily sauntered over, hips swaying with every step.

"Well, hello, handsome," he purred as he leaned into the open window on the passenger side. His voice was rich and sounded like sin. Up close, Jensen saw tip-tilted eyes of indeterminate color, a pink mouth currently curled in an arch smile, and a few arrestingly placed moles. He idly wondered what those moles--next to his nose, the corner of his mouth, the curve of his chin--would taste like under his tongue.

"$25 for a hand job, $45 for a blow job, and $90 for a fuck, and I'll give you 10% off because you are such a fine-lookin' man," the hooker drawled. "Condoms only." He smiled widely, showing very white teeth and the dimples that Jensen had noticed from the street.

"Well, sugar? What can I do for you?" One of the young man's hand had strayed down the expanse of his exposed chest, a finger tracing the curve of his pec and circling a dark rose nipple. His eyes never left Jensen's face, lips parted slightly as he waited for Jensen's response.

Jensen's eyes couldn't help following that adventurous finger. His traitorous cock twitched inside his elegant dress slacks, but he was not ready to admit to his desire.

"Directions," he replied casually, managing to hide a snicker at the young man's surprise. "I need directions to the Beverly Wilshire. Can you help me?"

The hooker laughed and dropped his hand onto the Lotus' window edge. "Of course! Honey, I can get you all _kinds_ of places." He winked slyly at Jensen. "I'm going to do better than tell you, I'm going to _show_ you!" He ran long fingers across the door frame. "I've never ridden in a Lotus before!"

Jensen's response was to pop open the automatic locks, and the streetwalker hopped into the car in a tangle of legs, tossing his jacket and tote bag into the back seat.

"Well, thank you, sugar! Here we _go!_ " He waved cheerfully to the other streetwalkers as they drove down the block, most of whom yelled and catcalled back.

"Jared," the young man said, smiling broadly at Jensen. "My name--it's Jared."

Jensen looked at him sideways, watching Jared bop to some interior soundtrack.

"This car is to _die_ for! Such a smooth ride!" Jared commented, batting his eyes at Jensen. "How about you, sugar? What kind of ride are you?" He put one large hand on Jensen's thigh and squeezed.

Jensen fought to keep his face straight. "Directions?"

Jared sighed, drew his hand back, and began to direct him back to the hotel.

When they arrived at the Beverly Wilshire, Jensen pulled up to valet parking and turned to Jared.

"How much for the whole night?"

"The whole night?" Jared's eyebrows rose and his eyes widened before he caught himself and assumed a more detached mien. "Um, that would be . . . $500, plus breakfast and full use of the facilities." He jutted his chin out defiantly as he regarded Jensen, but Jensen saw insecurity lurking in Jared's eyes.

"Done. Come on up." Jensen handed the keys to the valet and strode into the hotel, knowing that as soon as the stunned expression left his face, Jared would be hot on his heels.

And so he was, his boots clicking on the sidewalk until they entered the hotel and crossed the lush carpet in the lobby. Jensen indicated the elevator, and they both got in, Jared clutching his tote bag in both arms and grinning like a fool. He inhaled sharply when Jensen hit "P", sneaking looks at Jensen, who pretended he didn't see them in the mirrored elevator walls.

Just before the elevator hit the penthouse, Jensen--his eyes focused straight ahead--said "Jensen."

"Uh, 'scuse me, what?"

"Jensen. My name is Jensen."

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the penthouse foyer. Jared stopped and Jensen saw his eyes go round at surroundings that were undoubtedly far more elegant that he was used to. Jensen was blasé about the place himself--he spent too much time in beautiful, empty rooms like this for this one to stand out.

"Come in, Jared." Jensen led the way into a exquisitely decorated living room, casting his suit coat carelessly onto a cocoa brocade chaise. Jared followed, staring at everything, turning his head until he looked like an owl. He bumped into Jensen and snapped his focus back to his new client. Jensen grabbed him around the waist, pulling him in tight. A slow smile spread across Jared's face as he slung an arm around Jensen's neck.

"Well, hello there, _Jensen_. It's a pleasure to meet you!" He ducked his face and kissed Jensen's cheek. Jensen moved to kiss him, but Jared shook his head and laid a finger across Jensen's lips. "I don't kiss on the lips, darlin'. You get everything else under the sun, but not that." His face was briefly serious.

"Okay," said Jensen. "I can live with that." He reached down and grabbed the hem of Jared's shirt, pulling it up and over his head. The red material made a startling splash of color as it spilled onto the plush cream carpet. His hands immediately began roving over the smooth skin of Jared's chest, stroking over his pecs and abs. Jared was not heavily muscled, but he was well-defined, his muscles laying sleekly under his tan skin.

"You know just what you want, don't you?" Jared asked as Jensen's hand moved lower, squeezing Jared's cock through his cut-offs. His hips pushed back against Jensen's palm, and Jensen tightened his grip, making the hooker gasp.

"Big boy," Jensen murmured, moving to grip Jared's ass, holding him tight as he started grinding against the young man. Jared gasped softly, his hands winding in Jensen's spiky hair, hips undulating in Jensen's grip. "I top. Exclusively."

"Okay," husked Jared. "I can live with that."

Jared woke up in the biggest, softest bed he'd ever seen, much less ever been in. Jensen was not in the room, but Jared could smell food and coffee. He stretched languorously, reveling in the size of the bed and the silkiness of the sheets. His body felt pleasantly sore from the night before--Jensen was strong and liked it a little rough, but nothing extreme. It had been a straightforward fuck, with little foreplay but plenty of lube. Jensen's cock was nicely sized, cut, and filled Jared in a most satisfactory way. While Jensen hadn't gone out of his way at all to make sure Jared got off, Jared had no trouble climaxing before they finished. In his line of work, he didn't expect anything from his clients at all, so having the sex be so enjoyable was a huge perk. This had been a sweet gig for sure.

And now breakfast appeared to be ready, so Jared hopped out of the luxurious bed and pulled on some pajama pants _(sock monkeys? Really? They were awfully cute though . . .)_ he found folded in a basket at the foot of the bed. He walked into the next room, where indeed there was a large tray with an array of food waiting; a dish of scrambled eggs, another of bacon, croissants, a carafe of juice and another of coffee, and a bowl of strawberries. His mouth watered immediately. He never truly went hungry, but there were times the coffers were emptier than was desirable for a young man of his size and appetite.

Jensen was already dressed in a crisp button-down, tie, and sharply creased dress pants. He was sipping coffee and nibbling on a croissant as he perused the newspaper. He looked up at Jared and gestured to the breakfast tray.

"Help yourself. There's plenty."

Jared nodded with a smile and slung himself sideways into a chair. He grabbed a plate, piling it with eggs, bacon, a croissant, and half a dozen strawberries. He poured a glass of juice and drank half of it immediately, humming with pleasure. Finally he fixed himself a cup of coffee, adding plenty of milk and sugar to it, before sinking back in his chair with a happy sigh.

Jensen watched him with a little half-smile.

"Hungry?"

Jared nodded. "Think I'm still growing, actually. I'm 21, but I grew an inch still last year. Plus, I burn a lot of energy. And fresh juice like that? I never get that, it's a real treat." He sipped coffee and shoveled in a few more bites. "Thank you, Jensen. I know I said breakfast, but this is way more than I ever expected. So . . . thanks."

"Of course. As I promised, so I deliver." He studied Jared for moment, making him wonder if he had food in his teeth. He ran a hand through his hair - his thick, shaggy mane of chestnut hair - and realized what the stare was about.

"Yeah, um . . . not really pink hair."

Jensen nodded. "I see that."

Jared gave him a somewhat embarrassed smile. "It just helps me stand out on the street, you know? And answers the whole gay question at the same time."

"Got it. I like this better."

Jensen returned to his newspaper. Jared plowed through his food, looking all the while around the beautiful suite. The entry door and foyer were just beyond the living/dining room that they were seated in, which was appointed with rich cocoa and taupe furniture. It all blended beautifully with the burgundy and cream swirls of the carpet and the cream brocade walls. Everything had clean, simple lines, yet was comfortable instead of stiff or cold. The bedroom carried the same color scheme as the living room, with the addition of deep burgundy in the curtains and linens. The effect was rich and calm.

Huge windows allowed for plentiful sunlight as well as a stunning view of the L.A. skyline, and Jared saw there was even a terrace outside the double French doors. He picked up his plate and walked over to them, opening one door and stepping onto the marble terrace. The air was already warm, but the marble was cool against his bare feet. He went up to the railing and looked out in awe, biting the juicy strawberries and savoring their sweet flavor as he surveyed the view.

"Jared!"

Jared turned to see Jensen standing in the doorway, looking pained.

"Jared! Come in, please. You're right next to the railing!"

Jared felt perplexed. This was the _penthouse!_ If you were spending the bucks to stay up here, why wouldn't you enjoy the fabulous view from the terrace? But Jensen was his client, and apparently he was richer than God, so Jared returned to the living room, simply filing his curiosity away for now.

Jensen was back at the table, folding up the newspaper and drinking coffee. He didn't even glance at Jared, who plopped back into his chair and snagged some more strawberries. Jared wondered if he could bathe before heading out to the streets as he bit into the plump little berries. Last night had been sweaty and sticky, plus when he'd used the bathroom, he'd seen a beautiful sunken tub that just screamed for a bubble bath.

Jensen stood up and began fastening his cuffs, picking up a pair of silver barbell cufflinks set with emeralds on the ends. "I'm in town all week on business, Jared. I'd like to hire you for the entire week. You'd be expected to accompany me to a couple of social events I must attend for business reasons, and--of course--you'd stay here with me." He looked up, his eyes fixed on Jared's. Jared thought, as he had last night, that Jensen had the most astonishing green eyes; they were thickly lashed, and his stern face was softened by the freckles sprinkled over his flawless skin. His cool demeanor was offset by full, ripe lips that he often moistened temptingly with his tongue. Jared was curious about the mixture of masculine beauty and emotional detachment that made up Jensen. What made this guy tick? It was clear that Jensen kept everything close, and his detached manner made Jared wonder what went on behind that handsome face.

"The whole week? Twenty-four/seven? That's going to cost you big-time, dude--I don't come cheap for an extended gig like that. Including all meals? 'Cause I told you, I'm --"

"A growing boy. Yes, I remember." Jensen smiled . . . just a little. The corners of his mouth turned up and little dimples popped out, and Jared thought _whoa_. Jensen had just gone from attractive to stunning. Jared wanted to see more of this Jensen. "Of course, all meals are included. What's your fee?"

Jared sat for a moment, calculating. Seven days/nights at $500 each was $3500, plus 15% for the exclusivity, round it down to . . . "$4,000, and I am all yours, and yours only, for the entire week. You'll have Jared on tap for any . . . needs that might arise." He ran a hand through his long hair. "And the previous conditions still apply--no kissing, no sex without condoms." He felt a little nervous - this was the biggest deal he'd ever had. Just spending the week in this gorgeous hotel with this gorgeous man was a sweet arrangement. Walking away with 4K? He'd be able to think about getting out of hooking, have a chance to decide what he wanted to do besides sell himself.

"Done." Jensen slipped on his suit jacket. "I want you to keep this in mind, though. Don't mistake this for anything but a business deal. When this week is done, I will let you go, Jared. Don't think that I won't."

"Yes, of course," Jared replied, feeling like Jensen had just thrown cold water on him. He knew it was only business. It just was nice to . . . pretend a little sometimes.

Jensen nodded and picked up his briefcase. "Tonight, we have drinks with Jim Beaver and his nephew. We're negotiating my acquisition of his chain of salvage yards. Meet me in the hotel bar at seven p.m. And, Jared--dress appropriately. The cut-offs are hot, but not . . . suitable."

Jared looked down, thinking _shit, is this gonna be over already?_ He mumbled, "Uh, everything I have is pretty much like this. I don't exactly have a designer wardrobe." He picked up a fork and started doodling with it on the tablecloth.

Jensen stopped at the door. "Oh. Well." He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a thin black billfold, from which he extracted several bills. He walked back to the table and dropped them on the thick fabric. "Here. Go shopping, get a few outfits. Some dress casual things, a suit. Four or five shirts, couple of ties. Shoes. Got it?"

Jared was astonished by the number of bills on the table. Hundred dollar bills, as bright and fresh as if they were newly-printed, easily a couple dozen or more, dispensed without any hesitation. He was even more astonished that Jensen would trust him to actually shop and return to the penthouse, instead of walking out the door and simply disappearing. Jensen struck him as being very shrewd, but the apparent trust he was now placing in Jared spoke to a depth of perspicuity that Jared was unfamiliar with. He reached out, his hand lingering over the money before he picked it up, feeling its crispness between his fingers.

"Got it. I'll--I'll be ready. Hotel lounge at seven." He looked up at Jensen, unsure of how to react. He could tell already that Jensen would eschew any overly emotional gratitude, so he kept it simple. "Thank you. Is tonight suit or dress casual?"

"Dress casual. If you need anything, see the hotel concierge--that's his job." And with that, Jensen picked his briefcase back up and left the suite.

Jared sat there, a little shocked. Great digs, great sex, a guy as handsome as any fucking fairytale prince. A week-long gig, a crazy amount of money. And now, he was going shopping on Jensen's dime--an all-expenses-paid spree on Rodeo Drive, like a fucking movie star!

"WOOHOO!" he yelled, throwing the money up in the air and laughing as it rained down on him. "Woo fucking hoo!!" Then he jumped up, carefully put all the money back together, and stashed it in his tote bag before heading to the bathroom for that bubble bath.

A few hours later, Jared walked back into the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire. His mood was no longer ebullient; his shopping experiences had been a far cry from what he'd anticipated. Shop after shop had refused him, chivvying him to the door with false, solicitous tones as they told him he was in the wrong place. He was used to his clothes, but as he walked down the elegant sidewalk of Rodeo Drive, he became self-conscious of accusing stares and expressions of disdain. He'd put his black jacket on, wrapping it around him for some cover but unable to do anything about his short cut-offs and thigh-high boots.

The final straw had come at the last shop, _Pellegrino's_. He'd seen a beautiful outfit in the window: a pair of tan linen pants and a short-sleeve sage green cotton shirt with a delicious cashmere sweater vest. Opening the shop door, he'd gone right over to the rack with the outfit featured on it, looking for a price tag. He was already feeling depressed from his previous shopping encounters, but he was determined to do this. He was not going to let Jensen down this evening.

"May I help you?" said a dulcet voice with a delicious English accent. Jared turned and saw a tall, slim woman, exquisitely attired and wearing a name tag that read "Lauren". Her tawny, stick-straight hair hung just below her shoulders, and her rose-pink mouth was lifted in a pretty smile that Jared could immediately tell was fake. In case he wasn't sure, her gray eyes were ice-cold.

"Yes," Jared said defiantly. "I'm interested in this outfit. Could you tell me the price, and if you might have it in my size?"

Her eyes flicked up and down his body before they utterly dismissed him. "I'm afraid you can't afford that outfit, my dear." Her smile widened as her eyes flicked over him with disgust, and Jared felt like a very large bug in the shiny-bright shop.

He dug down in his tote bag and pulled out a couple of the hundred dollar bills Jensen had given him. "I have money. See? I can pay. I just need you to tell me how much the clothes are!"

Lauren crossed her arms. "I'm terribly sorry, I don't think we have _anything_ in the store that will . . . fit you." She stared at Jared as if to dare him to challenge her ridiculous statement.

He couldn't do it. He was already half-crushed by similar treatment in half-a dozen other stores, and Lauren, standing there so lovely and fashionable, radiated a confidence and superiority that he couldn't withstand. Tears came to his eyes as he looked at the beautiful outfit again, then down at the floor, as Lauren simply waited for him to cave and depart.

By this point, two or three other salespeople were gathered behind the register, whispering. Jared burned with humiliation, but grit his teeth. He gathered the shredded remains of his dignity and lifted his head up proudly, looking Lauren square in the eyes. 

"I see. How unfortunate." He strode to the door, ignoring the chorus of whispers behind him, and walked back outside.

He walked briskly for a block, just to get away from there and any chance that one of them would see him, then ducked into an alleyway and leaned against the wall. He was breathing heavily as he tried not to cry, sniffling a little as he worked to bring himself under control. _Fuck it,_ he thought. _I've been through a lot worse than that. Fuck their superior asses._ He nodded firmly, taking a couple of deep breaths. _Just . . . what am I going to tell Jensen tonight?_ He sighed, the distress over failing Jensen deflating his resolve.

A footfall brought his head up, and he saw a well-dressed older man had stepped into the alley. The man's dark suit was enlivened by a bright tie and pocket square, and he wore a kindly expression on his face.

"Are you all right, my boy? I saw you duck in here and I thought you might be hurt." The man's voice was rather gravelly, but Jared appreciated his words.

"No, I'm not hurt, thank you. I just--I was upset, and I needed to catch my breath. Thank you for checking, that was kind of you." Jared took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, his jacket falling open as he let go of it.

The man's eyes dropped to Jared's body, and his tongue licked his lips.

"You're so pretty . . . " His hand reached out and rested on Jared's chest, sliding down his torso slowly, his fingertips digging into Jared's skin slightly as they dragged down. "Oh, yes, very nice, so firm . . . tell you what, Pretty, you give an old man a good time and I won't have you arrested for soliciting. Hmm?? Kneel down and let me use that pretty mouth and we'll all be happy." He pinched one of Jared's nipples with a leer.

Jared jumped, gaping at him in horror. Yeah, he was a whore. Sure, on his own corner, he'd probably have let this man do whatever for the price. But he _wasn't_ on his corner, and he wasn't whoring here.

Shock coalesced into anger and he yelled at the man, pushing him back with one long arm.

"NO! I'm not hooking, and you don't have any right to touch me, you creep!" Jared ran past the disgusting man and out onto the street again, not slowing until he was two blocks away.

It was a long trudge back to the hotel after that. Once Jared arrived, hot and sweaty under his jacket, the air conditioning felt like he'd walked into Heaven. Unfortunately, that moment of respite ended quickly.

"Excuse me, young man," a cultured voice addressed Jared. "Would you please come with me?"

Jared turned to see a tall, slim man with bright blue eyes, curly blonde hair and a beautifully trimmed goatee. He wore a navy suit with a burgundy pocket square and tie. The man beckoned to an open door off the lobby, clearly herding Jared out of the public eye.

Jared had had it.

"Really? _Really?_ What, am I too slutty to be in your hotel? Am I _besmirching_ it? Well, join the parade, dude, there's already been a line to kick me, and you're late to the party!" Jared couldn't help the whine that crept into his voice - he was tired and humiliated and his feet hurt.

The elegant man ushered him through the door and into a beautifully appointed office with a window to the flower garden. "Please, take a seat here. Would you like some water? You look very flushed."

A tray with a pitcher of ice water and some glasses materialized on a table next to the chair Jared was seated in, and he gratefully poured a glass and drank the whole thing straight down.

"I'm sorry . . . I just have had a really, really bad day. I had to go shopping, but--" Jared sipped some more water.

"Young man, are you a guest at this establishment?" Mr. Cultured Goatee said. His face was politely impassive, but his eyes were quite sharp, and Jared knew he didn't miss a thing. This man already knew quite well that Jared was not a hotel guest.

"Um, not exactly . . . I'm a friend of a guest. I . . . came in with him . . . last night."

"Ah! Of course. Which guest of ours would that be?"

"Jensen . . . his name is Jensen. I, um, I don't know his last name. Oh! He's in the penthouse."

Mr. Cultured Goatee turned to the desk he was leaning against and picked up the phone. "Mr. Ackles' number, please. And connect us. Thank you."

Jared fidgeted in his chair as they waited. 

"Mr. Ackles, it's Sebastian Roche, concierge at the Beverly Wilshire. I'm inquiring about a _guest_ of yours. A young man, around twenty years old, about six foot three? Yes. Of course, you are an extremely valued guest, sir, but generally speaking the hotel does not condone guests bringing in their _own_ guests, if you understand my meaning." 

Mr. Roche glanced over at Jared before continuing with Mr. Ackles.

"However, we _do_ understand if a family member comes to visit--say, a nephew . . . you're an only child? Mr. Ackles, do please work with me here . . . oh, a _cousin!_ Of course. Young Mr. --" Mr. Roche cocked an eyebrow at Jared.

"Jared. Jared Padalecki."

"Mr. Jared Padalecki, sir. All week? Of course, sir. Thank you." And he hung up.

Jared sat up very straight as he and Mr. Roche regarded each other.

"I think you know I'm not _really_ his cousin." Jared said.

"Yes, sir, I'm aware. Mr. Ackles is a very distinguished guest, and we try to offer the very best service we can to him. I'm quite sure, however, that when this week is up and Mr. Ackles departs back to New York, you will make sure that I don't see you here again. Am I understood?"

Jared's throat choked up. Dammit, he was not going to cry. Again.

"Yessir." He managed to get the word out.

"Fine. Go on up to the penthouse. And, Mr. Padalecki? Would it be possible to dress in a more . . . seemly manner for the Beverly Wilshire? We don't want to challenge our other guests' sense of propriety."

That was it for Jared. The heat, the walking, the rudeness, the condescension, the derision, the assumption that he was always available - it all swept over him in a hot, angry wave, propelling him out of the chair and onto his feet.

"I tried! I _tried!_ I spent all goddamn _day_ trying to buy some clothes to wear! Jensen--Mr. Ackles--gave me a fistful of hundreds to shop with, but no one would _sell_ me anything! I wasn't good enough to be in their fucking little shops, and I'm supposed to go have drinks with Jensen and some business guy tonight, and I _can't buy any clothes!_ "

The anger seeped away after his outburst, and Jared was left panting, blinking hard to hold back the tears which instead decided to trickle out via his nose.

Mr. Roche offered him a handkerchief, and Jared gave him a wavery smile of thanks before blowing his nose and offering it back.

". . . Keep it," said Mr. Roche dryly. He moved back to his phone again, dialed, and greeted the answerer cordially. Jared heard his name during the quiet conversation, but was unable to overhear anything else.

"Jared, go up to the penthouse and take a shower. A woman named Samantha Smith will be coming to see you with some outfits--she'll be able to fix you up for tonight." Mr. Roche told him with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"Thanks-- _thank_ you!" Jared exclaimed, and threw himself onto Mr. Roche, expressing his gratitude and relief by wrapping his arms around the man in a big hug. Mr. Roche quietly squawked and patted Jared delicately on the back.

Jensen walked into the hotel lobby at seven p.m., checking his watch before he entered the lounge. The concierge appeared next to him as if out of thin air, greeting him as he steered him out of the main lobby into an alcove.

"Good evening, Mr. Ackles. I'm Mr. Roche, the concierge. We spoke on the phone earlier? About your . . . cousin?"

Jensen was puzzled. "My cousin?"

Mr. Roche politely rolled his eyes. "Young Mr. Padalecki, who is visiting you while you're staying in the penthouse."

"Oh, yes! My _cousin!_ Yes, what about him?"

"He seems to be quite a nice young man, albeit a little rough around the edges. Anyway, he's waiting for you in the cocktail lounge." Mr. Roche gestured toward it. "Have a very, _very_ pleasant evening, Mr. Ackles."

Giving Jensen a small smile, he walked away, leaving Jensen still somewhat puzzled.

Nonetheless, he had an appointment, so Jensen entered the lounge and looked around for his "cousin", Jared.

Who was nowhere to be seen.

Impatience stung Jensen. He'd been quite clear about when and where he expected Jared to be this evening, and he didn't have a lot of time to wait around before his dinner. He huffed in annoyance as he scanned the room.

His eye passed over a tall figure in a black silk shirt and black linen trousers, and he found himself drawn to the casually dressed, yet very elegant, man. The linen pants draped perfectly over a shapely ass, and the silk similarly hinted at the strong back muscles underneath the delicate fabric. Chestnut hair swept in loose waves over the shirt collar . . . and then the man turned, and Jensen gasped.

Jared smiled at him, his artfully tousled hair framing his high cheekbones perfectly. As he drew near, Jensen could see the intriguing, foxy eyes sparkling, could appreciate the contrast of those white teeth in that tan face. The shirt was unbuttoned low enough to see some caramel skin, but high enough to still be tasteful, and if the silk had hinted at the back muscles, it was nothing for what it did to Jared's chest. Jensen found himself hoping devoutly that his own pants were full enough to hide the little dance his cock was doing as it began fattening up.

Jared reached him, standing in front of him. Jensen reached out and ran a hand down his arm, studying his face until Jared ducked his head in embarrassment.

"You look fantastic," Jensen said quietly. 

"Thanks. It's because of Mr. Roche. I had a facial, and a haircut, and the clothes were brought in--he had everything and everyone sent up to the penthouse." Jared looked around before returning his gaze to Jensen. "I feel pretty wonderful, and I'm glad you like it."

Jensen stepped closer and hugged him, burying his nose in Jared's hair and inhaling its woodsy-spicy smell with pleasure. The silk conveyed all the heat of Jared's body directly to Jensen's hands, and he could feel every curve and bulge of muscle and bone. Jared's hands came up around Jensen's shoulders, and he'd be a liar if he denied how good they felt. They felt damn good.

They broke apart at the same time, both smiling as they acknowledged that they better get moving. Jared preceded Jensen out of the lounge, and Jensen found himself quite enthralled as he watched Jared's long legs striding in the linen pants, to say nothing of that ass. He firmly told himself to settle down and focus--he had business now. He and Jared could play after.

Oh yeah, there would be some playtime.

The next morning, Jared was lounging at the table over breakfast as Jensen finished dressing. Jensen had been very demonstrative the night before about how pleased he'd been with Jared, and Jared felt very relaxed and hungry, and possibly a trifle sore. Jensen chuckled as he walked by and saw Jared helping himself to seconds of everything.

"I can't help it--I have a high metabolism, to say nothing of a client who demands an enormous amount of attention," Jared said loftily. "I have to do everything I can to satisfy him." He winked at Jensen, who turned on his heel and swept Jared into his embrace, biting his neck softly as Jared laughed and squealed, "Ticklish! Ticklish!"

Jensen pulled away and sighed. "I have meetings, I have to go. We have another dinner tonight, so choose another outfit like last night's." He picked up his briefcase and checked his hair and tie in the mirror, where he saw Jared plop back down with an unhappy face. 

"Jared, what is it?" He watched Jared look out the window, evading Jensen's eyes. "Jared?"

Jared ducked his head and let out a deep breath. "I don't have any other clothes. I only got the one outfit I wore last night."

Jensen didn't understand. Surely he'd given Jared plenty of money. Was the hooker hitting him up for more? Did he really look like an easy mark that Jared could milk?

He replied testily, "What are you talking about? I gave you more than enough money - "

"Yes, you did! I just couldn't _spend_ it!" Jared's voice jumped in volume, and now he was looking at Jensen angrily. "No one would let me buy anything in their goddamn shops! They all looked at me like I was a _bug!_ A fucking disgusting _bug_ , Jensen! Not fit to touch their clothes, only good enough to blow them in an alley!" He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "The only reason I got the clothes I wore last night was because Mr. Roche called in a stylist friend, and she called in the esthetician and the hairstylist as well. So I don't know have anything to wear tonight, or any idea how I'm going to get it."

He flopped onto the couch, apparently drained by his outburst. Jensen studied him for a moment, his eyes following the graceful tumble of limbs. He noted that Jared's face --momentarily unguarded--looked far closer to seventeen than twenty-one. And that, even while rumpled and unhappy, he was ridiculously beautiful.

He went over to the side table and picked up the phone. He dialed, spoke a few clipped sentences, and hung up.

"Okay. Get dressed. We're going shopping."

Jared's head whipped around, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. "What?"

Jensen couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Get dressed. You can't crawl down Rodeo Drive in your sock monkey pajamas! C'mon, my black AmEx is burning a hole in my pocket." He winked at Jared.

Jared sat frozen for a few seconds, then bounded up off the couch to the bathroom. "Oh my God! Oh, wow! I just gotta change--and brush my teeth - and then I'll be ready! _Oh!_ "

At the door of the bathroom, he froze before spinning around and leaping over to Jensen. He threw his arms around Jensen and smacked his cheek, hugging him tightly. 

" _Thank you!_ Thank you so much, Jensen! Oh, we are going to have the _best_ day!!"

As Jared bounded back into the bathroom, Jensen found himself ever-so-lightly touching his cheek as his eyes followed the happy young man.

It was 4 p.m., and Jared was back in the penthouse living room, sprawled on the chaise. Bags of every size surrounded him, while boxes with shoes and hats in them were piled carelessly by the couch. A couple of garment bags were slung over the couch's back; Jared looked at them reverently. He'd never even _worn_ a suit before, much less owned one.

He sighed. He was tired, yet a thrum of residual excitement from the day still tingled through his veins. Jensen had been a man of his word, sweeping Jared into a limo and then to a couple of very swanky shops. The first stop was Stefano Ricci, where they'd selected boxers in both Egyptian cotton and silk, as well as some T-shirts. Jensen picked out thin cotton tank tops in black and white; his eyes sparkled in approval when Jared tried one on. Socks, two leather belts, one black and one brown. A new wallet, plus a monogrammed silver money clip for cash, and they were done. 

Then it was on to the clothing store, and Jared had the kind of fun he'd only every dreamed of. Armani was just a name he'd heard on television before, and here he was being plied with coffee, water, champagne. He tried on any item that caught his fancy. Three clerks assisted him, while Jensen spoke to the shop manager. Jared watched out of the corner of his eye, keeping a sharp ear tuned into what Jensen was saying.

"I'm here today to spend an excessive amount of money on that young man." Jensen gestured towards Jared. " _Excessive._ You could say . . . obscene. Yes, that's it, we'll be spending an obscene amount of money. We are going to need as much help as possible, and a lot of sucking up, so that that young man is spoiled within an inch of his life. All the sucking up that is humanly possible. Do you understand me?"

The shop manager, whose discreet name tag read "Mr. Heyerdahl", said obsequiously, "Of course, Mr. Ackles! We are happy to do everything we can, sir, and may I say how thrilled I am you chose our store. We will provide the very best sucking up that can be found on Rodeo Drive, sir. And may I just say how elegant that suit looks on you, and how very flattering the drape of the trousers. You cut a very . . . virile silhouette, sir, very imposing --"

"Not _me,_ you idiot! _Him!_ _He_ gets the sucking up!" Jared stifled a laugh as Jensen rolled his eyes in exasperation while gesturing at towards Jared.

"Oh, of course! Certainly, sir!" And Mr. Heyerdahl ran over to Jared and began to ply him with shirts and ties to go with the various suits and pants they were looking at.

Later in the afternoon, Jared asked for pizza. Three pizzas were delivered to the store, and Jared happily ate almost a whole one himself, sharing the rest with the clerks and the other customers. He turned his head and caught Jensen smiling fondly at him.

". . . What?"

"Nothing. Like to see you eat with such a good appetite. Listen, I have to go--don't worry, you're in good hands here now. I have a meeting and then I'll see you for dinner again. Wear that cashmere sweater, the charcoal gray one, and the skinny black pants, okay? Have everything you don't want to carry sent over to the hotel."

He kissed the top of Jared's head, then tilted his head and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 

Jared didn't say a word as Jensen left, just watched him go out the door in his usual purposeful manner. He didn't realize he was still staring until the manager coughed softly and brought his attention back to the clothes waiting around him.

Jared was in the changing room when he saw one of the store clerks punch out, then pull off his fancy sweater. Underneath it was a vintage Pink Floyd T-shirt with the Dark Side of the Moon art, and Jared ran after him as a crazy idea hit him.

"Hey! 'Scuse me!"

They were in the main part of the store again as the clerk stopped at Jared's call.

"Yes?"

"Can I--I want to buy your shirt. Jensen would love it--something that isn't for some meeting he's going to, but just for him. Please?"

The clerk looked at him in confusion, but the manager smacked him on the back of the head. "He wants your shirt! Take it off, _give_ it to him! Of course, Mr. Jared, and we'll clean it in the back while you finish shopping!" He grabbed a plain T-shirt off a rack, thrusting it into the clerk's arms as he pushed him back to the fitting room again. "Go _on_ , you moron!" Jared waved and mouthed _thank you_ at the clerk.

Finally they were done, and Jared had most of his new wardrobe sent to the hotel, only carrying three large bags and a couple of smaller ones, including the one with Jensen's T-shirt, all cleaned and gift-boxed. He wanted to walk down the sidewalk and enjoy the sun and fresh air, after being in the store most of the day. His designer jeans clung perfectly to his long legs, and his tailored white shirt fit his wide shoulders and narrow waist to a tee, while the turquoise, green and brown embroidery down the front of the shirt accented his eyes. He looked like a million bucks, and he knew it.

As he strolled on the way to the hotel, he realized he was passing in front of the shop where he'd been humiliated by the snippy saleslady. He smiled to himself as he opened the door and entered.

The little chime of the door alerted the saleslady and she came right over to her new customer.

"Hello, may I help you with anything? Finding a particular outfit, perhaps?" She batted her eyes, and Jared almost threw up in his mouth a little. She clearly didn't recognize him from the previous day at all, as she was busy oozing fake charm at him now.

"Yes, I was just wondering--do you work on commission? I know shops like this often do." Jared gave her a crocodile smile with extra dimple.

She looked faintly puzzled. "Why yes, yes we do. Why . . .?"

He curled his lip at her. "You don't remember me, do you? I was here yesterday, but I was dressed a little differently. _You_ wouldn't wait on me." He lifted his shopping bags and shook them, making the heavy contents rustle. "Big mistake. Big. _Huge._ "

Giving one more wide, toothy smile, Jared turned to the door, singing, "Oh my, more shopping to do!" as he swept out of the shop, completely satisfied at the shocked look on her vapid face.


	2. Chapter 2

The last couple of days had been busy: Jensen had attended several meetings and gone over a ream of papers as his takeover neared completion. In the evenings, he'd taken Jared to business dinners and cocktail parties, all of them fancy and expensive affairs. Jensen couldn't take his eyes off the younger man, and did his wheeling and dealing with Jared constantly in his line of sight. Jared had looked fantastic in his new wardrobe, but it was more than his clothes that kept Jensen's eye on him. It was Jared's natural charm, his ready, dimpled smile, the way he could make anyone laugh and relax that was special. Tossed into a world far above his own, Jared not only didn't flounder--he flourished. 

Tonight, they had no business obligations, and Jensen had a surprise for Jared.

"Go get changed, Jay," he said casually. Jared got up and started toward the bedroom, stopping when Jensen spoke again. "And, tonight, just jeans and a T-shirt, okay?"

Jared's eyes widened, but he controlled his curiosity. "You bet, honey!" He grinned as he bounced into the bedroom to change.

When he emerged, Jensen bit his lip and wished that they were staying in. Jared's black T-shirt was apparently spray-painted on; its thin cotton strained over Jared's broad shoulders and lithe musculature, and silver foiled letters proclaimed "Boy Toy" across his chest. Jensen could swear he saw a nipple bump in the silver "B", the damn shirt was so tight. As if hypnotized, his hand was tracing the letters as Jared stood stock still, his eyes gazing steadily into Jensen's. Jensen ran his thumb down the spine of the "B" and felt his cock go rock hard as it found the firm bud. Jared caught his breath as Jensen circled it with the pad of his thumb, teasing it into a hard point, making it stand out even more distinctly under the tee.

Jensen kept toying with Jared's nipple as he slowly licked his lips. He wanted to suck on it right through the cotton, wanted to bite it and hear Jared gasp; he wanted to rip the shirt off and maul Jared, take him right there on the goddamn floor. He felt his cock start to leak pre-come, and he knew if he looked down, his pants would be tented, his silk boxers doing nothing to restrain his eager dick.

He knew Jared had already seen it--the rascal was silently begging for more, his hands jammed into his back pockets as his chest pushed gently against Jensen's touch, his jeans straining at the zipper. Jared's eyes were still fixed on his, but now they were blown dark with arousal, and his breathing was short and shallow.

Lust clogged his throat, but Jensen coughed and managed to croak, "Guess I better change too. We can, ah . . . take this up again later." His thumb couldn't seem to stop circling on Jared's nipple, as if all the sensation in his body was now focused entirely on the half inch of nerve endings at the tip of his thumb.

Jared ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes as he visibly fought for his own self-control, biting his bottom lip before reaching down to press against the bulge in his jeans. 

"Yeah . . . yeah . . . oh God, uh . . . you better stop that then, because otherwise I'm gonna cream my jeans and that would make the rest of the evening rather uncomfortable." He bit his lower lip again and whimpered.

Jensen jerked his hand back, using it to press down on his raging erection. He closed his eyes to stop the excitement that just looking at Jared evoked. _Deep breaths, Jen, deep breaths. He's all yours, you two can tear it up later._ Opening his eyes, he saw Jared was gone, and heard water running in the bathroom. Jensen went into the bedroom and quickly changed into jeans and a warm brown henley.

He looked into the mirror as he ran his hands through his hair. _Jesus, you're getting way too into this . . . throttle back, boy. He's a hooker, and you're leaving soon. It's just business._

Jared re-appeared, his jeans all smoothed out in the front, his T-shirt half-covered by a silver gauze button-down with the front open and the sleeves rolled up. He'd lightly lined his eyes with kohl and applied a swipe of silvery eye shadow. It made his already beautiful eyes look deep and mysterious. Jensen suddenly felt he was about to fall into those eyes . . . and never come out.

"C'mon, let's go! We don't want to be late!" he heard himself babble, and grabbed Jared's hand. They ran out of the penthouse and into the elevator, both of them laughing like loons.

The surprise was a concert. Jared didn't know if he was going to die or orgasm right there in the limo.

"Jesus Christ, Jensen, they're my absolute favorite band _ever!_ Like, I love a lotta different kinds of music, but Pearl Jam--they just, it's like they _speak_ to me. I've always followed them, but I never thought I'd ever actually _see_ them! _Live!_ Oh, God!" He fanned himself for a moment before climbing into Jensen's lap.

Jensen grunted under the weight of an enthusiastic Jared and said, "It's okay. I'm glad you're excited. Just . . . maybe keep a lid on the PDA for now, alright?" Jensen looked uncomfortably toward the driver in the front seat as he shifted Jared to the seat next to him, but Jared could see the smile Jensen was unsuccessfully trying hard to hide. And when Jensen smiled as big as he was doing now, there were these adorable little lines from the corner of his eyes that fanned out and _Jesus,_ he was just too fucking gorgeous. _Damn, if Pearl Jam in concert doesn't kill me, those big green eyes will._

"Maybe I'll blow you in the men's room later as a little thank-you," he whispered into Jensen's ear, following his words with a lick. He chuckled as he felt Jensen shiver, sneaking his hand into Jensen's lap and pressing down on his crotch. Sure enough, he felt Jensen's erection growing, and he squeezed it.

Jensen hissed and grabbed Jared's hand, gently but firmly removing it from his dick. "Later, I promise. After we aren't arrested for public sex."

The concert was amazing. Fuck that, it was beyond amazing, and Jared couldn't believe he was sitting there--well, standing there--while the music surrounded him, pummeled him, made him sing and dance and laugh and cry. He didn't even look at Jensen, but he could feel Jensen's hand on his back, or his arm around his shoulder. He could feel Jensen's body moving to the music as well, and he rejoiced that the tightly wound businessman was letting down his barriers.

Finally, Jared knew the band had to be nearing the end of the show. He turned and grabbed Jensen, pulling him out of their row.

"Jared! What are you doing? They're still playing!" Jensen asked, a puzzled look on his face.

Jared shushed him. The concourse was empty - even the staff was inside listening. Jared looked around quickly, spied an anonymous door, and pulled Jensen through it.

"You get used to finding hideyholes when you're hooking," he whispered into Jensen's ear. "Here . . ."

It was some sort of service hallway, and it was close enough that they could _feel_ the music pounding. Jared pushed Jensen against the wall, pinning him there with a large hand for a moment. Jensen's eyes got huge.

"Shit! It's like it's going right through me!" he gasped. "The beat is pulsing in my fucking bones!"

Jared smiled and nodded before he dropped gracefully to his knees. He quickly dealt with Jensen's belt and zipper, pulling out a cock that was already filling quickly under his fingers. He looked up at Jensen as he kissed the tip, smiling as it jerked under his lips.

"Thank you, baby," he mouthed, and swallowed Jensen's cock down.

They were relaxing in the limo, riding home from the concert. It was late--almost early. By the time Jensen recovered from the incredible blow job Jared had given him, they'd made it back inside for the last number and the encores. Jared was hungry afterward (of course), so they'd stopped for a late meal. Now it was somewhere around 2 a.m., and they were sitting quietly in the dark limo, heading back to L.A.

Chris Kane, the limo driver, kept the speed steady as they drove down the empty highway. Every so often Jensen could see his eyes flick up in the mirror. Jensen was quite familiar with Chris, as he used the hotel limo all the time during his trips to L.A. He often left the privacy window down when he and Chris were alone, and they'd enjoyed several pleasant, if laconic, conversations. It was unusual for the window to be left down if there was another passenger, though, and Jensen knew Jared's presence had to pique Chris' curiosity.

Jared's head leaned against Jensen's shoulder, and Jensen could feel the laxity of his body.

"Hey . . . sleepy?"

Jared mm-hmmed and nodded against Jensen. Jensen smiled and kissed Jared's hair.

"Here you go . . .curl up on the seat, Jay, and put your head on my lap. C'mon . . . swing your legs up there, giraffe-boy . . .that's it. Now lie down here--it's okay, put your head down. We have at least another hour, if not more. You warm enough?"

Jared nodded, his head pillowed on Jensen's thighs, eyes already closed and a faint smile on his lips. Jensen could tell by his breathing that he was asleep within five minutes.

Jensen watched him for a while, running his fingers through Jared's thick, silky hair. He wasn't conscious of any specific thoughts; he simply studied Jared. His eyes traced the floppy strands of hair spilling over his jeans; the dark curve of Jared's eyelashes splayed across his cheek; the high, elegant cheekbones that gave those dramatic planes to his face. Jared's mouth was slightly open, the pink lips loose, and Jensen had a flash of those lips stretched wetly around his cock earlier. That was replaced by the memory of Jared eating strawberries, lips cradling the fruit as it stained that pinkness with red juice.

"He's pretty special, that one."

Chris's soft, husky voice broke the silence.

Jensen momentarily bristled at Chris' presumption, but then he relaxed. It had been too great a night to bitch someone out.

Besides, it was true.

"Yeah. I'm starting to think so." _And it fucking terrifies me . . ._

Chris cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean to intrude, but . . . you look like a man with a lot on his mind. And I don't mean about your next corporate raid."

Jensen sat quietly, unsure what to say. What to think. Chris was right--there was a lot of new stuff going on in his head, and none of it had to do with business.

"I've lived a certain way a long time now, Chris. Been focused on one thing. I always thought it worked for me, but now . . ." He looked back down at the beautiful young man sleeping in his lap. "Now . . .I'm not so sure. And frankly . . . that scares the shit out of me."

He saw Chris' head, outlined by the lights of the dash, nod. 

"No foolin' there, sir. That can be some scary shit alright."

They were both silent.

"Just . . . it can be worth it, too. C'n be worth everything."

Jensen looked down again, threading his fingers through Jared's hair. Looking out the window, he gazed into the dark, watching the distant lights go by as the limo glided silently through the night.

 

The introspective state of mind Jensen found himself post-concert in continued the next day. He had Chris take Jared out for a massage and a facial, plus they would bring back something for lunch. Jared suggested that Jensen come along as well, but while he enjoyed a good hot stone massage as much as anyone, he really wanted a little time to think.

Now alone in the suite, Jensen sat and stared out of the living room. The terrace doors were open, and a soft breeze teased the gauzy curtains. The city's noise was dull, merely a backdrop for Jensen's thoughts.

Too many things were jumbled up inside Jensen's head. The memory of last night's concert - the music, Jared, the carefree fun of it, Jared's smile, his joy, the warm, heavy weight of his head in Jensen's lap--left him with an unaccustomed sense of . . . happiness. That was it, that odd new feeling--it was happiness. 

And happiness was not a feeling Jensen spent a lot of time with. Ruthless. Cold. Detached. _Those_ were words people used about Jensen. The way he targeted an ailing company, bringing his considerable focus to bear in their weakened state. His swift acquisition of them, whether by savvy deals or outright manipulation. His dissection of the newly acquired company, breaking off the salvageable parts to sell and grinding the rest into dust. _That_ was how Jensen did business.

That was why he was in town this week. He'd learned a company that owned a chain of salvage yards and auto parts dealers had fallen on hard times. They were hoping for an influx of money from a new partner to rebuild and reinvigorate the chain's strength. They thought that partner might be Jensen, despite his shark-like reputation.

They thought wrong. 

Jensen's plan for Beaver Salvage & Auto was his usual one. Obtain. Disperse. Destroy. Jim Beaver was an honorable man, dealing fair and square, struggling to retain his family's legacy for his nephew to carry on.

Jensen harbored no illusions about his own honorableness.

But now he'd met Jim Beaver and his nephew, Jake Abel--in fact, that had been his first business dinner where Jared accompanied him. Jared had charmed them, and Jensen began to see Beaver a little differently. They had negotiated all through the week after that, but Beaver had ultimately refused Jensen's offer. Beaver ended the negotiations the day of the concert in fact, at which time he confronted Jensen about his future plans for the salvage yards.

"You're ruthless, Mr. Ackles. You don't care how you win; you'd sacrifice anything along the way. You live to destroy. Well, we don't destroy at my salvage yard--we _build_. We supply all sorts of materials for builders. We help them create. If you decide you want to create something for once, you call me. You're a very smart man, and I think I'd enjoy working with you. As it stands now, however, I reject your offer. You're not going to gut my company."

Jensen scoffed, "You refuse, you go under. Then I get it anyway. Why not take the offer and be a rich man the rest of your life? Retire, travel, spend time with your nephew's children?"

Beaver nodded. "Yes, maybe you will take me down. But even if you do, I'll still have my integrity. What will _you_ have, Jensen? What will you be left with?"

Beaver picked up his briefcase, but stopped at the door.

"You have a fine young man there, by the way. Jared's got a good head on his shoulders, good heart inside. It's easy to see that he's smitten with you." Jensen started at that. "Don't break him too, son. Not everything is about owning and breaking." And he left.

Beaver's words had been playing in the back of Jensen's head as they headed to the concert, and as they ended up having a magical evening. It was confusing - of course he didn't want to break Jared. But . . . why did he even care? Jared was a hooker, he _owned_ Jared this week. Come the weekend, Jensen would leave, and Jared wouldn't even be a blip on his radar.

_I will let you go, Jared. Don't think that I won't._

So why, here on the following day, was his head buzzing about this? And why was his stomach so churned up? And, God, why did thinking about it make him so anxious for Jared's return?

The door opened and Jared entered, holding a big bag of take-out.

"Jensen! Lunch-time! I stopped at that Mexican place, the one with the great tacos? Tacos, a couple of quesadillas, and of course--guacamole! C'mon, grab a seat and let's eat! I'm starving!"

He put all the food down on the table as he talked, unpacking the bag and setting out napkins and silverware.

"The massage was fabulous! And the facial too. Thank you so much! I feel wonderful!"

He ran to Jensen and hugged him, kissing his cheek. Jensen looked into those marvelous eyes, the colors all mixed, sparkling as Jared smiled at him.

And then Jared leaned forward and kissed him. Soft lips square against his, pressing gently, then a little harder. The tip of a tongue sweetly sliding along the seam of his mouth. A final press before lifting away.

Jensen's heart was pounding. He looked at Jared in shock. Jared's eyes still sparkled, but his expression was serious now.

"I could be falling for you, Jensen Ackles," he said softly.

And then he was gone, back at the table, fussing over plates and water bottles, grabbing some tortilla chips.

"Come ON, Jensen! _Food!_ "

Jensen broke his paralysis and walked over to the table. A loop ran in his head: _What the hell? What the hell?_

_What am I doing? What did that mean?_

_What do I do now?_

He didn't know the answer.

Jared was rather quiet the rest of the afternoon. Jensen had been a little distant when he'd gotten home with lunch, but he'd relaxed over the meal. Although Jensen had to do some business in the afternoon, but he'd suggested to Jared that they go clubbing that night. Jared was surprised--Jensen hadn't struck him as a clubbing kind of guy--but he wasn't going to turn that down. Jared loved to dance, and he looked forward to a night at a club where he wasn't spending half of it in the bathroom servicing customers.

On the other hand, this was his last night with Jensen.

Jared knew all about protecting his heart along with his body. This week, though . . . this week had been different. He'd be a liar if he denied that Jensen had slipped in under his skin. Prickly Jensen, so busy keeping everyone at a distance. And yet, Jared had seen a different side. He'd noticed Jensen watching him, seen the faint smile on his face. He knew how much the uptight corporate raider had unbent this week. And Jared had fucking fallen for him, like a giant doofus.

Well, he didn't live on dreams. This was no fairy tale, and he wasn't fucking Cinderella. Jensen was going to leave, and Jared would have his financial stake for bettering his future, and he'd go on. He had a life to live, Jensen or no Jensen.

But tonight--tonight, he still had Jensen.

As Jensen made calls and worked on his computer, Jared went through his clothes and picked his outfit for the evening. He showered, using the vanilla-citrus body wash that Jensen liked, and used his little body groomer to shave his groin and balls. He prepped himself, just in case, working lube into his hole as he daydreamed about Jensen's fingers there instead. His cock responded to his hand, and he thought about a quick jerk-off, but decided to save it instead.

He walked into the bedroom, where his clothes waited on the bed. He stuck his head out of the room and asked Jensen if he wanted his clothes before Jared dressed.

"I got them while you were showering. I'll get ready in the guest room."

Jared closed the bedroom door, a goofy smile on his face. It felt ridiculously sweet and domestic that Jensen thought about Jared wanting to dress and surprise him, and so had taken his own clothes into the other room.

That was the Jensen he'd wager people didn't know.

That was the Jensen he loved.

Jared dressed and surveyed himself in the full-length mirror. He hit a few poses, checking himself out. _Yeah,_ he thought. _Jensen is going to like this._

"This" was a striking Armani shirt in a dark sapphire blue. It had a hexagonal pattern woven into it, but most of the hexagons were sheer --- only a smattering of randomly placed ones were solid. The blue sheer revealed Jared's body tastefully yet alluringly, as well as playing up his eyes. Black leather pants clung to his legs, soft and snug, begging to be touched. Jared put on a smudging of kohl around his eyes, as well as the same shimmery silver shadow he'd used the other night. He tucked a couple of condoms and lube sachets in a pocket, checked himself out once more, and exited the bedroom.

Jensen was _extremely_ appreciative of Jared's efforts. They walked through the hotel, Jensen with a hand at the small of Jared's back, Jared with a proud strut and an ear-to-ear smile. He winked as they passed Mr. Roche in the lobby.

Mr. Roche winked back.

Chris drove them to the club, dropping them off at the entrance. Jared was fairly nervous about disembarking in front of a big line, but Jensen simply took his hand and led him up to the door, ignoring the crowd. He gave his name to the bouncer who immediately gave way and had them enter. 

The dimensions of the club were impossible for Jared to ascertain between the black walls, the alternating bright lights and shadows, and the number of gyrating bodies in it. Music was reverberating off the walls, the dance floor mobbed with people grooving to the latest club anthem. Lasers shot out randomly, smoke curled on the floor, and somehow pretty, twinky waiters dressed only in glittering short-shorts and suspenders managed to wind their way around the dance floor and take drink orders.

Jared loved it.

Jensen ordered drinks and then Jared pulled him out on the dance floor. He tried to demur, but Jared refused to hear it.

"You are not bringing me to a hot place like this and then leaving me alone to dance with strangers! No way, Jensen!" He plastered himself against Jensen and looked beseechingly into his eyes as he undulated his hips against Jensen's. "You, baby, I wanna dance with _you_."

He snaked a hand down to Jensen's crotch, smiling when he felt how hard Jensen was already.

Jensen laughed. "Fuck, Jay, you win. No fair laughing at me now!"

They wound their way onto the floor and started dancing as "Born This Way" pulsed from the speakers. Jared felt euphoric with the music, the dancing, having Jensen dance _with_ him, the way Jensen had used an affectionate little nickname for him. He also was not ignorant of the many admiring looks he was getting. He couldn't help preening a little - it wasn't often that Jared Padalecki, late of the streets of L.A., got to wear Armani and get his groove on in the swankiest, hottest gay club in L.A. The ball was ending tomorrow, and he was making the most of it tonight.

After several songs, Jensen begged for a break and Jared nodded in agreement. They came off the floor and split a bottle of water. Jared saw a look of surprise on Jensen's face as they cooled off, and he wondered what prompted it.

"Are you okay? Not too much dancing?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just saw someone I know, and it kind of threw me."

Jared always felt a little nervous when they met any of Jensen's acquaintances, but he put on his game face and said, "Wanna say hi?"

Jensen shook his head, answering, "That's not necessary." He took another drink of water, but looked around when Jared tapped his arm.

"I think he's coming over here."

Jared nodded behind Jensen, who swiveled around to see who it was. Jared stood anxiously, his hand still resting on Jensen's arm. The stranger was easily four or five inches shorter than Jensen, with dark hair surrounding a balding pate. He was clad in expensive, dark clothing that did not flatter his burly figure. He clapped Jensen on the shoulder and gave him a broad smile that Jared immediately distrusted.

"Jensen! How are you doing, bucko? Fancy seeing you here, I didn't picture you for kicking up your heels in a dance club," the man said in a rich voice tinged with an English accent. Up close, Jared could see the sweat on his ruddy face. 

"Yeah, yeah, thought I'd give it a shot. How are you, Mark?" The men shook hands, followed by Mark turning to Jared with a speculative gleam in his dark, beady eyes.

"Fine, fine. Had a little steam to blow off myself, while waiting out this salvage yard deal. Who is _this_ pretty thing, Jensen? You hiding all the good ones for yourself?" He winked at Jared, who fought to keep from recoiling. Of all the times to be glad he wasn't working, this was definitely one of them. Mark made his skin crawl, and the thought of allowing those pudgy, grasping fingers on his body, or having to open his mouth or ass to the man was repulsive.

Jensen shook Jared's hand off his arm as he stood up, startling Jared a little. He wondered if Jensen was making a statement about them to this creepy man, and the thought made him uneasy, like he'd become a boat unmoored from the safety of the dock.

"Jared, Mark Sheppard, my business lawyer. Mark, Jared."

Jared noted his sudden lack of surname, or of any explanation of his presence. He looked down for a moment, feeling forsaken but struggling to keep his facade together. Jared looked back up and gave a professional smile to Mark.

"Pleased to meet you," he said. He found himself crossing his fingers behind his back.

Mark's eyes ran down Jared and back up. Jared shivered at the cold lust he saw in those eyes, and he saw Mark's smile widen.

_Bastard._

"I was going to get a drink, can I get anything for you lot?" Mark offered.

The idea that Mark might actually roofie him popped into Jared's mind, and he quickly offered, "I'll get them. You guys sit tight, chat. I'll be right back with the next round."

Jensen looked surprised, but went ahead and told Jared what he wanted, as well as unobtrusively pressing a fifty into Jared's hand. Mark added his order, and Jared began to make his way through the crowd to the bar.

"That's a pretty piece of tail," Mark said as Jared moved away. Jensen saw Mark's eyes glued to Jared's ass, which he couldn't deny was remarkable, especially in that pair of sinfully tight leather pants. He didn't like Mark thinking it, though.

"Yeah, he's . . . he's something, alright." Jensen looked away, silently willing Mark to shut up about Jared's hotness.

"You find him here? Any chance of me taking a shot at that?" Mark leered and gripped his crotch.

Jensen wanted to punch him. Or throw up.

"No, he's--he's my date. He's here with me," he said curtly.

Mark sighed. "A man can dream. Those legs, oh my! Well, have fun for the both of us, eh, mate?" He nudged Jensen with his elbow.

The urge to vomit was definitely getting the upper hand. Jensen ran his hand over his face as he gulped some air.

"Where did you meet him? At the Pendergasts' dinner the other night? No, I'd remember seeing a hottie like that around. C'mon, tell me, I'll be sure to frequent any spot that draw the likes of him around. Damn! Got me pecker in a state now! Come on now, Jensen, 'fess up! Just what kind of "date" is he?"

Mark's wheedling voice and crass talk finally provoked Jensen into lashing out just to shut him up.

"He was working Hollywood Boulevard, alright? He's spent this entire past week with me. Now shut the fuck up about him! He's off-limits!"

The nausea roiling in Jensen's stomach turned to lead. Shocked at how sick he felt over revealing Jared's origins to Mark, Jensen was further surprised at being shocked. When did he start giving a shit about anybody?

He wanted to just get the hell out of there. _Jesus._ This "fun night at the dance club" was turning out to be a fucking nightmare.

Fortunately, Mark dropped the subject of Jared, only to start discussing the salvage yard deal instead. He asked a few questions that Jensen hedged on answering; Jensen hadn't told him yet that Beaver had turned him down, and he wasn't looking forward to that little revelation.

Finally he grew sick of Mark's constant probing. Jensen's temper flared, and he blurted, "Mark--we lost Beaver Salvage & Auto. The deal went south." He looked around for Jared--what was taking him so long? Of course, the club was packed, but Jensen just wanted-- _needed_ \--to see Jared. _Now._

Mark's face was red; his mouth hung open, but only a spluttering sound came out. He closed it, shook his head like a bear shaking off bees, and stared hard at Jensen.

"What? South? What the _fuck_ are you talking about, Jensen? We worked on that bugger for weeks, for _months_ \--how does it just fucking _vanish?_ You owe me more explanation than that, you bloody ponce!"

Jensen really couldn't blame him for being angry. They _had_ worked on it for months. Mark had stood to gain a commission of over two million dollars. He was already a rich man, but two mil was nothing to sneeze at.

"It just happened yesterday. And frankly . . . I'm not that unhappy about it. We're not taking them over, Mark; instead, I want to merge with them. I'm offering to put capital into their coffers, so they can reinvigorate the chain. It was Beaver's counter-offer, and I'm going to accept it." He turned to face Mark full on. "I'm going to try building something, Mark. I've--I've never done that. I want to see what it feels like."

Mark cursed as he looked away, his face suffused with anger. Then he looked at Jensen and growled, "It's that fucking boy toy, isn't it? He's got you feeling all bunnies and puppies, don't he? Well, _fuck_ that crap, Ackles! You are not a bunnies-and-puppies bloke; _you_ are a cold-blooded son-of-a-bitch who lives to ravage companies and collect the balls of the vanquished! You are the great white of the corporate world! And some little juicy boy-cunt from the Boulevard isn't going to change that overnight, and take two million dollars out of _my_ fucking pocket!"

Their eyes locked for a moment, both men glowering angrily, but they were interrupted by Jared's arrival with the drinks.

"Here you go! Sorry it took so long, the bar was four deep. Jensen, here's your Scotch on the rocks, Mr. Sheppard, your Irish whiskey straight up and a beer, and I got a --"

Jared's hands were full of glasses and bottles, and as he put the whole lot down on the tiny table, he lost his grip on them. One of the drinks tipped over, sending a puddle of liquor and ice cubes toward Jensen and soaking his shirt. Jensen jumped off his stool, the cold liquid startling him as it hit his skin.

"Oh, shit, Jen! Fuck! I'm so sorry, I'm such a klutz!" Jared looked horrified.

"Hey, it's okay. No big, babe. I'll just go sponge off and use the dryer in the men's room for a minute." He caught Jared's worried face between his hands and kissed him softly, feeling him settle under the touch of Jensen's lips and hands. "It's okay, Jay. Have your drink and I'll be back in a couple of minutes." He looked into Jared's anxious eyes. "Relax. I'm fine."

"Okay . . . I am really sorry though. Do you want me to come help?"

Actually, Jensen did, but he hated the idea of Mark sitting there, thinking Jared was blowing him in the bathroom stall. "No, no. You sit down and have your drink, I'll be right back." With a final pat on Jared's cheek and a nod at Mark, he left for the men's room.


	3. Chapter 3

Jared slid onto a stool, watching as Jensen disappeared into the crowd. He took a sip and grimaced--it had been his black Russian that spilled, so he took some sips of Jensen's Scotch. It might be expensive, but the stuff tasted nasty. He glanced at Mark, feeling very uncomfortable at being alone with him, and sure enough, Mark was leering at him again.

"So . . . you're Jensen's little plaything this week, I hear," Mark purred. "How . . . nice for you."

Jared felt a cold squirming in his stomach. Had Jensen really told this--this _toad_ that he was a hooker? He tried to ignore his distress and bluff it out.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Mark chuckled. "Of course you don't. Don't know about getting picked up off the Boulevard, spending an all-expenses-paid week at the fabulous Beverly Wilshire? Oh yes, I know, Jensen always stays there, sweetcheeks. Don't know about being Jensen's fucktoy, day or night? Or is it day _and_ night-- I'll bet that boyo's got some serious stamina." He sipped his whiskey, while his eyes bored into Jared.

Jared felt like slime was slowly sliding over his skin, covering his body. He looked down, blinking hard, and then out at the crowd. They were still dancing, singing, laughing under the colored lights and the occasional burst of glitter and confetti. They were a just few feet away from Jared, and they might as well have been on the Moon.

A hoarse voice whispered in his ear, sending a cold chill down his back.

"Now, now, darling, let's not get all glum. Why don't you just come with me for a minute, sweetheart?" And a surprisingly strong hand gripped his elbow, the fingers digging into the sensitive spaces in the joint and making Jared gasp in pain.

"No fuss now--let's just slip away for a little moment alone. I promise to make it worth your while. I'm dying to see how those pretty pink lips look with my cock sliding between them." Mark yanked Jared off the stool and began to strong-arm him to the back of the club.

Jared felt panic flooding him. He looked around desperately for Jensen, but didn't see him anywhere. He was taller than Mark, but he wasn't that outright muscular, and he could feel the strength in Mark's stocky body. He was not going to be able to fight him off.

"Jensen is going to be _pissed!_ he hissed at Mark. "You can't do this!" He hoped the threat of Jensen's wrath would dissuade Mark from going any further. Instead of stopping him, though, Mark pushed him through a door into a plain hallway, away from the club proper.

"Oh, I can, and I'm going to. _Jensen_ just lost me a lot of money, darling, a _lot_ of money indeed! And he's not even terribly upset about it. Frankly," Mark said in a musing voice as he shoved open another door with "STORAGE" on it and pulled Jared in after him, "I have to wonder if some of that fucking Zen he's emoting is due to _you,_ , Jay-red. Is it the mojo of your beguiling mouth? Your tempting, ripe little ass? I think that fucking one of your holes--don't really care which, maybe both--might give me some inner peace of my own. Or at least a hell of a ride."

The storage room door slammed shut, and Jared's panic mounted. They were alone in a dimly lit room about the size of a walk-in closet, furnished only with metal shelves crammed with junk along the walls and some floor-cleaning equipment piled in one corner. No one was going to hear them here--even the blaring club music was fainter. The prospect of having this horrible man fuck his mouth or his ass was terrifying. He knew that Mark wouldn't give a shit about hurting him; in fact, he'd guess that Mark would probably enjoy it.

He swatted at Mark's hands as they moved in to grab him. Mark caught both of his hands and held them tightly in one of his beefy ones. His other hand came down hard on Jared's shoulder, forcing him down on his knees and pinning him there.

"Now then, grip your arms behind your back and don't let go, got me?"

Jared nodded and Mark released his hands. As Jared started to move them, he whipped one fist around, sending a hook punch aimed at Mark's crotch, hoping to disable or distract him with a blow to the junk.

Instead, he found himself lying on the floor, his head ringing. His cheekbone felt like it had been hit with a brick. Mark was smiling down at him--the creep must have back-punched him. And enjoyed it.

Mark leaned forward and grabbed Jared's hair, pulling on it to force him back onto his knees. Jared couldn't help yelling--both his scalp and the side of his face blazed with pain. Mark slapped him, still holding his hair so he wouldn't fall back to the floor again.

"Shut up, you little whore! I've got something here that will keep you quiet. Now . . . open up . . ." His free hand fumbled at his belt and fly, and then his dick fell out; it almost smacked Jared in the face, Mark was standing so close.

"Here, bitch--Daddy's got a nice, pink lolly for you --" Mark held his erect cock and poked it at Jared's mouth. Jared tried to keep his lips closed, but Mark slapped him again and he couldn't take the pain. Jared opened his mouth, his eyes filling with tears from the pain and humiliation.

_Not my first blow job, c'mon . . . not even the first one I didn't want to do. Suck it up, Padalecki. Ha, see what I did there? I made a "suck" joke . . . oh God, he's vile, he's disgusting, I'm gonna puke . . . stop it, asshole, you're a pro, you can do this . . ._

Mark was already thrusting into his mouth with little grunts of pleasure. He was not lengthy, but he was thick and uncut, so he still filled Jared's mouth with little room to breath. The tears lurking in Jared's eyes began to trickle down his cheeks as he fought for air in between the pumping of Mark's hips. He wanted to anchor himself somehow, but his arms were still behind his back and Mark's hand still clenched in his hair.

_No, no . . . so gross . . . a gallon of mouthwash isn't going to take this taste away. Jensen, where are you? Jensen . . . forget him, jerkwad, he's the one who told this animal you were a hooker. He's done with you . . . this was our last night, I wanted . . . stupid, Jared, so stupid thinking that maybe he . . ._

Jared slumped forward. There was no point in even attempting to fight anymore. Better to accede and let it happen, just get it over quickly, hopefully unharmed. Mark crooned as Jared sagged. He pulled almost all the way out, then fucked back in as far as he could before pulling back again. Jared's nose smushed against his bristly, dark pubic hair again and again. He tried to cough, but couldn't get quite enough air to do more than wheeze.

_Jensen . . ._

Jensen stood in the men's room, holding his shirt under the hand dryer. He wasn't worried about the spill so much, he just didn't want to wear a cold, wet shirt. As soon as it felt somewhat dry, he put it back on and headed back to the table.

It was empty.

Jensen looked around. He didn't exactly picture Mark and Jared dancing, but he scanned the floor anyway. At six foot three and with that hair, Jared was usually pretty easy to spot.

He didn't see Jared.

Turning back to the table, Jensen saw the drinks were still there, including the tipped glass and the puddle. A sense of alarm began to tingle inside his brain; Jared would never leave before Jensen was back. So . . . he was here in the club somewhere. but not on the dance floor.

_Fuck!_

A certainty seized Jensen--Mark had taken Jared somewhere private. Images of Mark leering at Jared, his sweaty face close to Jensen's as he asked where Jensen had found Jared. How Jared had jumped up to get the drinks. He'd jumped up because . . . 

_Because he didn't want to be alone with Mark._ Jensen's subconscious filled in the blank. _Because he knows people; he survives by knowing people, and he knows that Mark is a slimy bastard. Mark scared him._

Mark had scared Jared. Jared, who was brave and joyful, so captivating that Jensen had hired Jared to stay with him for the week. And while it had only been a week, Jensen hadn't seen Jared be scared of anything at all. Ever.

Until tonight. And probably, Mark being the opportunistic bastard that he was, he'd seized the opening that Jensen's visit to the men's room provided, and he'd hijacked Jared.

Jensen looked around frantically. He saw a door marked with a red exit sign, so he ran to it. It opened to the outside but had a safety alarm on it, so that was out. Mark would pick the easiest, sneakiest path. He saw two other doors further along the wall, so he hurried over to check them out. One was locked, and he immediately moved on to the next.

The second door opened right up, and Jensen gave a quick glance back into the club before ducking through and shutting it behind him. A hallway with a few doors looked promising. Jensen fretted over which to try first, worried that time was slipping past. Time during which Mark could be hurting Jared.

_. . . finding hideyholes when you're hooking . . ._

Hideyholes.

On one side was an office and a bathroom. The office was locked, and Jensen stuck his head into the bathroom and found it empty.

 

On the other side, there was an unmarked door that was locked and another door that had STORAGE on it.

Jensen grasped the doorknob of the STORAGE door and turned it, pushing in with all his weight. The door slammed open, crashing into the metal shelves behind it with a resounding clang.

Mark had his back to Jensen, initially blocking his view. At the noise, Mark stepped back and whirled around, his fly open, his bobbing erection all wet and shiny in the light of the hallway. Behind him knelt Jared, his hair every which way, his face pale except for the large red mark on one cheek. Saliva dripped from his face, joining the tears running from the corners of his eyes. He looked like he could barely stay up on his knees, weaving slightly with his eyes half-closed.

"You goddamn bastard! You son of a bitch!" Jensen roared, turning on Mark. He didn't even think, he just reacted; his arm flew out in a punch and caught Mark squarely on the nose. Blood promptly burst out over his shirt, and he howled in pain and anger. Jensen launched another punch, catching him on the jaw, and a third that connected under Mark's chin and sent him into the floor cleaning equipment. He sprawled there, his nose bleeding, his eyes closed, and his dick now flopping limply at his groin.

As Mark lay there moaning, Jensen rushed to Jared, kneeling to examine him.

"Jay! Jay, oh god, I'm sorry. What did he--are you--" Jensen couldn't frame the questions. How to ask someone "are you okay" when he'd just been assaulted? "Jay, how are you? What do you need?"

"I'm alright. Can we . . . can we just get out of here? Please?" asked Jared, closing his eyes as he rested his head against Jensen's shoulder. 

"Of course, baby, of course. Jared, do we--do we need the police, or an ambulance?" Jensen had difficulty getting the words out; visualizing the possible need had intensified his fear and concern for Jared's state even more.

"No. No, he didn't--he just made me blow him. He might have wanted more, but you got here in time. Thank you, Jensen," Jared said softly. His lips were swollen, and so was the cheek with the angry red mark on it, but Jensen figured he could just have the concierge send a doctor up for that.

"Okay, darlin', c'mon then. Up you go. Lean on me, okay? I'll just call Chris to come around the back, and we'll go home." He cradled Jared in his arms as they shuffled out of the closet together, leaving Mark inside. 

Chris notified the club manager, who expressed his horror at what happened. He came and unlocked the fire exit, letting Jensen guide Jared through it. He assured Jensen that Mark would be summarily dumped in the alley as ungently as possible, as well as banned from the club.

Jensen carefully helped Jared into the limo, and Chris whisked them back to the Beverly Wilshire. Jared seemed perfectly happy to stay huddled up next to Jensen, uncurling reluctantly when they arrived. They went straight to the penthouse, where Jensen called Mr. Roche for a doctor, despite Jared's statement that he didn't need one.

"Just let him look at the cheek, okay? Make sure you don't need an X-ray or anything. You're sure he didn't . . . do anything else?"

"No, that was it. I feel like I need to brush a hundred times. At least he didn't come." Jared grimaced, then came up to Jensen and slid his arms around Jensen's neck, burying his face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jen. I'm so sorry. I tried to get him to stop, I told him you'd be angry and I tried to hit him, but --"

Jensen hugged him tightly, his nose in the chestnut silk of Jared's hair.

"Baby, it is NOT your fault! Outside of it being all Mark's fault, it's my fault for leaving you alone with him. I just never dreamed something like this would happen. I knew he was an ass, but not that he'd actually force himself on someone."

Jared withdrew his arms and stepped back. He looked calmer, but suddenly a little cooler too, Jensen noticed the withdrawal, and he wondered if Jared really was angry with him for leaving him alone with Mark.

"It probably didn't help that he knew I was a hooker. He said he wanted to try out your new fucktoy, especially since you just lost him a buttload of money. He thought I was responsible for your new business attitude, and maybe he'd get that attitude if he got to use me too." Jared stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on Jensen. "So . . . how did he know I was a hooker, Jensen? _Why_ did he know?"

That leaden feeling returned to Jensen's gut; he felt cold and heavy with dismay and fear. 

"Jared, I'm--I'm so sorry. It just came out--he was pushing me, needling me, and I just--it was wrong, I had no business telling him." Jensen's nausea returned tenfold; he hoped he wouldn't have to run to the bathroom and vomit. "Baby, is that why he thought he could just attack you like this? God, that--that's--" Words failed him; he stood there staring at Jared, filled with guilt and self-hate for setting Jared up like that. 

He walked toward Jared, hands outstretched in apology. 

"I'm sorry, Jared. This week has been . . . amazing. Unexpected. _You_ were so unexpected. I'm sorry Mark had to ruin it, attacking you like an animal. He had no right to treat you with such disrespect."

Jared's jaw clenched and his mouth turned down.

"You're right, he didn't. He _didn't_ have that right. And you know what, Jensen? Neither did you."

Jared turned and walked into the bedroom. In the resounding silence left after his exit, Jensen heard the click of the lock.

Jared tossed and turned the entire night, finally falling asleep as the sun began to rise. If his brain wasn't replaying Mark's attack--holding Jared on his knees, fucking his fat, disgusting cock into Jared's mouth, the ugly words--it was flashing back to Jensen admitting what he'd said to Mark. Jensen trying to apologize. Jensen rescuing him, nurturing him-- _Jensen, the ice king_ \--and realizing how he had fucked up.

Jared felt sorry for him, in a way. He knew Jensen hadn't done it on purpose. He knew Jensen's regret was sincere. But Jensen rode right over people, business or otherwise, took what he wanted and walked away, and dammit, he was not going to ride over Jared like that. Jared was a sex worker, sure, but he was a person too; he had his own dignity, he deserved respect. Especially from someone who appeared to care for him, even if he couldn't say it.

He sat up and groaned--his face hurt like a _bitch_. He stumbled to the bathroom and showered, soaping up twice to get rid of the slimy feeling. Looking in the mirror, he hissed at the bruise on his cheekbone, noting how the dark red was now shot with purple. _That's some lovely color there, oughta make trolling along the Boulevard lots of fun,_ he thought grimly.

Briefs, T-shirt and jeans, he was done. Time to go out and face the music.

Breakfast was laid out as always, but Jensen was nowhere to be seen. After a quick check, Jared saw that Jensen had in fact slept in the guest room, and that he'd already left for work, as his briefcase was absent.

_Okay, so I knew it would be awkward, but damn. I didn't figure him for a runner,_ Jared thought grimly. _Oh well._

He sat and ate, nibbling on a croissant and some fruit. His appetite was AWOL, but he knew he needed something in his belly. Afterward, he went around the suite, finding all his things and packing them up. He debated leaving the clothes, but scolded himself. When would he ever get clothes like these again? And it wasn't like they'd fit Jensen.

Jared looked through his wardrobe and selected cream linen trousers, much like the ones from the first shop he'd been scorned at. He paired them with a mallard green short-sleeve button-down, finishing off with dark brown huarches. He liked what he saw in the mirror - the linen trousers made his legs look a mile long, the shirt color was very flattering, and overall he looked stylish and cool.

His old tote bag had been thrown into the back of the bedroom closet. He pulled it out and loaded it up with all of his new toiletries and accessories. Poking around, he found a small rolling suitcase and packed it full with the clothes. He figured Jensen could buy himself a new suitcase. Jensen could pretty much buy a new anything.

He just couldn't buy Jared anymore.

Finally, Jared was ready. It dawned on him that he hadn't been paid. The clothes and all were great, but he was counting on the cash for his pay-off. However mad at Jensen he might be, he knew the man was not a welsher or a cheat. The money must be in the suite somewhere.

Jared went back to the table with the breakfast tray. With his lack of appetite, he had skipped coffee that morning, and therefore overlooked the envelope he now found leaning against the carafe. Inside, there were forty-one hundred dollar bills. Jared looked at it, suddenly unsure whether to actually take it or leave it.

There was no note with the money.

Jared put a rubber band around the money and stuffed it into the bottom of his tote bag, leaving the empty envelope on the table, next to the breakfast tray.

He slung the tote bag over his shoulder, picked up the handle of the suitcase, and looked around the suite one last time.

_It was nice while it lasted. No brooding, Jared--just time to move on. Time to find the rest of your life._

Jared left the penthouse.

The suite felt particularly empty when Jensen returned late in the afternoon. It wasn't like he hadn't stayed there alone before, but this week it had had the extra warmth and life of another person. Now it just felt chilly.

Jensen glanced around quickly, denying to himself that he was looking for anything, then walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff drink. Walking to the terrace doors, he opened them and looked out, sipping his drink and enjoying the breeze on his face.

Behind him, the empty envelope fluttered off the table to the floor.

_Ridiculous. I'm fucking ridiculous. I warned him; I told him not to expect anything from me._

_Why didn't I warn myself?_

He walked back inside, kicking the terrace doors shut. 

The empty envelope lay starkly on the dark, lush carpet like an accusation.

Jensen reached for the booze and got very, very drunk.

The next morning was hell. His eyes protested about the big light outside, his head had something loose and banging around inside it, and apparently some enormous hamster had been nesting inside his mouth. He started to get up and promptly found the co-ordination to sprint to the bathroom in time to vomit copiously into the toilet.

After that lovely little interlude, he managed to strip and crawl into the shower. Ten minutes into the water cascading over his sweaty body, he was able to cautiously stand up. A brisk round with his toothbrush rid him of nesting-hamster-mouth. Once he was minty-fresh, he called room service for orange juice, Gatorade, coffee, and a greasy mix of bacon, eggs, and potatoes. Clean boxers and sweats completed this phase of his renewal.

He chugged the Gatorade for rehydration and electrolyte balancing, then sipped coffee until he felt up to facing the juice and food. The first bites were forced, but then his stomach realized it was empty and he shoveled the rest of it in. There was some queasiness at first as his body accepted the food, but it settled down happily and he lay down on the couch with the terrace doors open.

_Time to think, Jensen. What is going on? This isn't like you. The last girlfriend who moved out, you didn't blink a fucking eyelash. Sayonara, bitch--that was you._

_What's so different about Jared?_

Jensen lay there for a while, watching the light move across the carpet and the breeze play with the curtains.

His phone alarm chirped, and he got up and dressed in dress slacks and a button-down, but no tie. He looked at himself in the mirror. 

_Who is this man? Is that me? What a fucking tight-ass. Do I want that to be me?_

He took everything off and dressed again.

Back to the mirror.

Hair casually spiky. Jeans snug but not tight, a little artful wear at the knees and hems. He turned around.

_Ass looks pretty good, old man._

He turned back. 

_Damn, are my legs really that bowed? Maybe it just shows more in jeans._

He shook his head with a wry half-smile. Ran his hand over his T-shirt--soft black cotton, a triangle outlined in the center with a ray of light that entered one side and burst out the other as a prismatic rainbow. Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. He thought about the evening when Jared had given it to him.

It was the same day they had gone power-shopping. After Jensen had left Jared--still busy--at Armani, Jared apparently had seen a clerk wearing this very shirt and wheedled it off the man's back. Jensen had arrived home from his afternoon meetings and found Jared wearing that T-shirt as he sat on a dining room chair. The rest of him was stark naked. One long leg across the table and the other was outstretched on another chair. Except for the hand that was cradling and rolling his balls and toying with his erection, Jared was brazenly displayed for his enjoyment.

Jensen was on his knees in seconds, gliding his hands up Jared's incredibly long legs, licking around the deliciously enticing cock that jutted up proudly from Jared's body. Jensen swirled his tongue over the fat cap and smiled at the bead of pre-come that swelled up, sliding his finger through it and down the shaft, making Jared moan and his dick bob in response. Jensen slid the T-shirt up, touching and mouthing Jared's smooth skin, reaching further to pinch his nipples, using his fingers and his tongue to explore and appreciate every bit of Jared that he could reach, drawing more and more moans and whimpers out of Jared.

When they were face-to-face, Jensen paused, his mouth so close to Jared's he could almost taste it. Their breath puffed out together as their eyes locked.

Jensen started to move in for a kiss, but Jared ducked; he turned and buried his face into Jensen's neck, kissing and nuzzling it. He rubbed his cheek against Jensen's and nibbled on his ear lobe.

"No, Jensen . . . not now . . . but, maybe . . .maybe one day . . . " Jared's whispered words were soft breaths against Jensen's skin.

Jensen had pulled Jared up and into the bedroom, divesting him of the shirt. They'd enjoyed each other over and over again.

And when they were done and Jared was sleeping on Jensen's shoulder, Jensen closed his eyes and thought that maybe he finally understood what the difference was between having sex and making love.

Now a few days had passed, full of sex and affection and a sweetness that was previously unfamiliar to Jensen, and Jared was gone. Their time had ended, just as he had warned Jared it would.

_I'm going to let you go, Jared._

Was he, though? Now that the end was here, could he really let Jared go? If he did let him go, would it make this weird, almost painful feeling go away? Jared's absence was a phantom ache deep inside his core, and he didn't know how to make it stop . . .

He felt very unsettled; all these questions were not like him. He knew what he wanted, did what he wanted, and that was that. This . . . uncertainty was disturbing.

It was time he left.

Jensen grabbed his wallet and briefcase and headed downstairs. He would have the concierge get his things packed up--Jensen couldn't deal with it.

He stopped at the desk and asked for Mr. Roche, who arrived within moments.

"Yes, Mr. Ackles, what can I do for you?"

"I'm leaving today, and I need all my things packed up and sent on ahead. Here is the address to send them to. Can your people take care of it?" Jensen asked. He thought with some surprise, _How abrupt I sound. Do I sound like this all the time? I sound like a dick._

Mr. Roche said, "Of course, Mr. Ackles. No problem at all. We'll get right on it." He looked squarely into Jensen's eyes, and Jensen felt that he was trying to convey something to him.

"Yes, Roche? Is there something else?"

"I was just wondering if you'd be wanting the limo, sir," Mr. Roche said blandly.

Jensen thought about it. Yes, he had some errands to take care of, and then, of course, the drive to the airport.

"Yes, yes, I would. Thank you."

"Of course, sir. I'll have Chris pull right up."

Mr. Roche busied himself sending a text and jotting down Jensen's address. After a few minutes of silence, he said quite casually, "You know, Mr. Ackles, Chris happened to drive Mr. Jared home earlier today."

Jensen looked at him sharply.

"He did? And this concerns me, how?"

Mr. Roche replied in that bland voice again, "Just a little pleasant conversation. Chris will be out front in a moment, sir."

Jensen turned away, wondering why he felt so confused and . . . and so angry. _This place has screwed with my head! I'll be better once I'm back in New York and out of all this California touchy-feely crap._

A soft cough made him turn.

"The limo is out front now, Mr. Ackles. You may tell Chris wherever you'd like to go. Unless, of course, you'd like to ask _him_ where you might go."

Jensen stared at the concierge, who gazed back at him innocently. 

"Yeah . . . whatever. Thanks."

Jensen strode away, Mr. Roche's parting, "Thank you for staying at the Bever . . . " fading away as he pushed through the big glass doors and emerged into the sunlight. 

Chris was waiting at the passenger door, his long hair neatly tied back. He waited until Jensen was seated inside before closing the door and going around the car to get into the driver's seat. Shifting the big car into gear, he steered it into the street. 

"Where to, Mr. Ackles?"

Jensen looked in the rear view mirror and saw bright blue eyes looking at him. He looked away--Chris's eyes were always so piercing. He tapped one hand on his knee as considered his next action.

_Nothing left to do here anyway._

"Airport," he said curtly.

"Yessir. " The car pulled forward smoothly. "Do you need to make any other stops first, sir? I'm at your disposal."

Annoyance bubbled up in Jensen. He just wanted to get the hell out of L.A. Wanted to get on the goddamn plane and fly away from stupid sparkling eyes and silly dimples and ridiculously long legs.

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

"Sir, are you feeling alright? Do you need a doctor?" Chris's voice harbored real concern.

"No, no. No, I'm fine." Jensen sighed and lifted his head. "What the hell . . . I'm not fine. I'm--I don't even know what the fuck I am, but it sure ain't fine. What is it about California, Chris? Does it make people go crazy?"

Chris chuckled. "No, sir, not like that. California is just geography. Love, now--love makes people go crazy." His eyes flicked to the mirror. "Maybe that's what you're suffering from, Mr. Ackles. Maybe you got a bad case of love going on."

Panic filled Jensen's throat. He'd vowed never to succumb to love; it was just a story to him, a fairy tale. Princes saving scullery maids, fighting dragons, living happy ever after? No, no, a thousand times --

Yes.

He sat frozen, watching the week play out in front of him with a completely different perspective. Jared being snarky with him, smiling at him, laughing with him. Jared's uncomplicated joy over things like strawberries and T-shirts and dancing. Jared's face in the dim light of the bedroom, his features openly showing his passion and his pleasure. How his body intertwined so naturally with Jensen's, always giving everything up to him, never holding anything back.

Jensen knew Jared wasn't like that because it was his job.

Jared loved him.

And Jensen loved him back.

"Chris! Can you drive --"

"Already on it, sir." Jensen could hear the smile in Chris' voice. "We'll be there in a jiffy!"

Jensen made himself sit back, forced himself to relax. His fingers drummed on the seat, and he kept looking urgently out the window, despite not even knowing where he was.

"Turning the last corner now, sir."

"Stop here!" Jensen saw a flower seller on the corner. He jumped out of the limo and bought a spray of roses. "Where, Chris? Which building?" Now that he was so close, his heart was pounding and he was alternately excited to be there and terrified that Jared wouldn't be.

"The brownstone, sir. Top floor." Chris was openly grinning now.

Jensen groaned. _Of course, it had to be the top floor._

"JARED!"

Jensen reached into the car and leaned on the horn. People all around them turned to look at them, startled at the noise.

"JARED!"

He looked for the entrance, saw a door with a metal gate in front of it. No getting in there. More metal caught his eye - the fire escape! The ladder was up, but he went over to it anyway and jumped. Almost, not quite . . . again . . . 

"Here, sir - perhaps this would be of assistance?"

Chris stood there proffering an umbrella. "I always keep one in the car, just in case of rain, sir. Maybe it can reach . . . ?"

Jensen gave him a big grin. "Chris, you're the best!" He grabbed the umbrella and jumped again. The handle of the umbrella caught the ladder rung, and Jensen pulled it down. He turned back to Chris.

"Seriously, Chris--you're the best. Like, the best man, if it gets to that. Okay?"

Chris grinned back. "You got it, Jensen! Now go on!"

Jensen turned back to the ladder and began to climb. He resolutely refused to look down.

"JARED! JARED PADALECKI!"

He kept climbing, he was past the first floor now. Footsteps rang out above him, and he looked up. A face peered out from the next landing.

Jared.

"Jensen! What on earth--what is all this ruckus?" Puzzlement warred with joy in Jared's face, and Jensen couldn't wait to kiss it all away. He made it to the landing and stepped onto it, focused only on Jared's face.

"Jared, I--"

"Jensen, do you realize you are on the second floor fire escape? What are you doing up here?"

Jensen's eyes flicked down and he plastered himself against the wall.

"Yes, Jared, I do realize it, and I'm trying to ignore it!"

Jared threw his head back and laughed, and it was like the sun came out all over again. He was utterly handsome; he was wearing light linen pants and a dark bluish-green shirt, and looked completely delectable. The loveliest part was his sparkling eyes and ear-to-ear grin, dimples in full bloom.

"Jensen Ackles, have you lost your mind?"

Jensen shook his head. "No, baby, I found it. It's been lost all my life, but you helped me find it, and I don't ever want to lose it again." He reached for Jared's hand and kissed it. "I don't ever want to lose you again."

Jared pressed his fist against his mouth, and Jensen saw his eyes fill. "Jensen, what . . .?"

Jensen knelt in front of him and offered him the spray of roses he'd managed to keep a grip on during his ascent. His heart swelled as he opened his mouth to do something he'd never really done before: speak his heart.

"Jared, I never believed in fairy tales and dragon fighting and princes saving their true love. That wasn't how my world worked. But then I spent a week with you, and I realize now that all that stuff--it can all be true. Because I lived it all with you. Jared--please stay with me. Wherever I go, wherever I am--be with me. I love you."

Jared smiled again, his hand pressed to his heart.

"Am I the princess in this little story?" He laughed and shook his head. "You are a crazy man! Climbing up here with flowers and all? Do you think you're saving me here, Jensen Ackles? Is that what's going on?"

Jensen felt a moment of fear. _Did I get this wrong? Does Jared not . . .?_

Jared's face softened. "Oh, Jensen, baby--it's okay. I love you too. You can go ahead and save me, darlin', 'cause you? You need someone to save you too. Someone . . . like me."

Jensen surged forward and grabbed Jared, hugging him tightly, raining kisses over his face as Jared laughed and tried to kiss back.

On the street, Chris roared with delight and started blasting the limo radio, while all the people who'd been watching from the street cheered and clapped.

Jensen pulled his face back to look into Jared's happy eyes. 

"I did," he whispered. "I did need to be saved by someone like you. And now I have been."

They stood there, arms around each other and foreheads pressed together, as an impromptu street dance party continued below them.


End file.
